


Prove Yourself To Me

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Female Reader, Genji is mentioned, Hanzo has Prosthetics, Hanzo is stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: Hanzo and the reader are friends—really, just friends.  Only, Genji and the members of Overwatch are determined to make sure that Hanzo and the reader have a chance to prove themselves to each other.  The only problem is that Hanzo is determined not to open up his heart....to anyone.





	Prove Yourself To Me

**Author's Note:**

> First fic where Hanzo has prosthetics. I was poking around and saw a players discussion on whether or not the comparatively slender legs were his or prosthetics. No one seemed to agree and I have to admit that some of the illustrations make his torso seem -thick- and then the slender legs. So, I wanted to write a story of a proud archer with a wounded heart who needs a little nudge.
> 
> There may or may not ever be a second chapter but this was fun writing anyway. 
> 
> P.s. shameless plug—i Need beta readers.

Everyone was curious about you and Hanzo. You both fit together—you were both more quiet than boisterous, both inclined to hold back and to examine a situation from a distance and plot a careful plan rather than burst in with weapons blazing. You were a good team on the battlefield—almost psychic in predicting the other’s moves and what the other needed.

But once you were off the battlefield, you both were standoffish—preferring to be alone over anything or anyone else. You barely even spoke to each other. As soon as the drop ship touched the base, you both bolted in separate directions.

No one knew what to make of it. Jesse and few others speculated that you were putting on a show and were actually meeting up. 76 and a few others maintained that you actually couldn’t stand each other and were simply getting away before you throttled each other. It led to many hours of discussion during the long trips back and forth.

Genji maintained his silence on the subject.

Instead the cyber-ninja observed what was happening. There was no doubt that you both were an unstoppable team. What happened off the field was a titillating mystery. His interest was piqued the more that you two avoided each other.

So, he began a quiet campaign. It would be interesting to see how you both reacted to his subtle maneuvering. There wasn’t anything overt—nothing either of you could complain about. Hanzo would practically honor-bound to refuse any setups and the ninja could only guess your reaction.

Thankfully he had plenty of allies.

After the next mission, you and Hanzo were the last to get to the transport. Both of you were battered and bruised and aching in every step as you covered the last agents and a limping McCree. Frowning, both of you went to the last bench and sat down. The chatter was muted—most everyone was resting or listening to earbuds or something and the cabin was dusky dark as the lights dimmed.

Genji glowed softly and twisted a small knob underneath his one of his plates to dim his lights and change the color to a soft blue instead of his favorite green. Then he settled back to watch what happened.

At first, you two were simply sitting on the uncomfortable bench. You were looking out the darkened window at nothing. Hanzo was plucking idly at his bow and staring at the floor. Genji smiled and decided to help his plan along.

He pulled out a dim pad with a mission report that was so dry that it made his eyes water. He smiled, although you couldn’t see it through his battle helmet. Leaning over, he shoved the pad past his brother at you. “Could you take a look at this report? I want to make sure that its correct.”

You blinked blearily in his direction. “I guess I could take a look. But isn’t this more...Tracer or 76’s thing?”

Genji shrugged, his armor clicking. “I just want to be sure it’s correct. Understandable.” He leaned again. His older brother grumbled softly and moved the heavy bow and quiver aside before folding his arms across his chest with a scowl. “76 told me to improve my use of language.”

You leaned unsteadily around the archer to get the device. You fingertips barely touched the corner when Genji let go. The device clattered to the bottom of the ship and you let out an annoyed sound. Then the transport tilted into a turn and the pad skittered across the floor and thumped against the archer’s foot.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and snapped it up. Wordlessly, he passed it to you with a sharp look towards his younger brother. Genji only shrugged and then made a show of shifting his katana around as though it were uncomfortable. Hanzo sighed and folded his arms again, looking over your bent head towards the window and the retreating street lights. Genji smirked beneath his helmet and waited, his head bobbing slowly.

About ten minutes later, your brow furrowed uncertainly. You leaned over to try to catch Genji’s attention, but found him nodding with his lights dimming. Behind the opaque helmet, Genji smirked and kept slowly nodding, dropping his chin as you looked at him. Predictably, your brow furrowed again and you pulled back slightly, assuming him to be asleep.

Flushing, you glanced at the pad again. You had found a problem all right—a few paragraphs in broken Japanese that you were completely unable to translate. Just that morning, Mercy had casually mentioned to you that occasionally the ninja’s translation software glitched and took his report in his native Japanese—especially if he was tired. Waking him up for a translation wouldn’t help—it might make the report worse.

“Is something wrong?” Hanzo asked shortly. He glanced at the pad and sighed. “Do you need a translation?” You nodded and handed the archer the pad. “Genji must be very weary to have let this get into his report.”

The man tapped the pad a few times and the text resolved. He handed the pad back to you. “Let me know if you find anything else that needs translating.”

You leaned against him, pointing to another paragraph. Looking at it, Hanzo muttered the translation to you, watching as you typed it in. Four pages later, your eyes were heavy and the pad was drooping. Another two pages and your head was leaning against the heavily muscled shoulder.

Genji smirked, watching as inevitably you leaned against his brother’s shoulder sleepily. Hanzo jerked a little, cracking an eye, but otherwise settled down. After another hour, the two of you were leaning against each other. The archer’s head leaned over yours on his shoulder and the two of you were asleep.

Predictably, you both were ready to bolt when the ship touched down. Hanzo woke first, instantly alert and moving to the front of the ship. You were slower, gathering up your gear and fumbling with the pad.

“Hey,” Genji greeted you with a merry tone. “Did you look at the report for me?”

You nodded sleepily. “There were a few paragraphs that needed some work.”

“Oh man. And I fell asleep.” He looked at you again. “Hey...you fixed it.”

You nodded again, swallowing a yawn. “Hanzo helped me.”

Genji nodded. He wanted to poke fun at you for falling asleep on his brother, but that was not part of the plan. “Really?”

You nodded again, throwing your utility belt over your shoulder. Without another word, you left the ninja with his faked reports.

Unsurprisingly, on the next mission, you and Hanzo were again seated together on the uncomfortable bench in the back of the craft. Genji sat on the bench in front of you, nodding wearily as he propped his shoulders against the window. It was too soon to try the “bad report” trick, so he just let nature take its course. Helped by him, of course, since he had kept Hanzo up last night going over the plans for the attack. And almost on cue, before the end of the trip, Hanzo was asleep on your shoulder and you followed soon after.

Genji smirked as you both naturally settled together on the bench after the next mission. You were more relaxed and fell asleep quite quickly. Hanzo looked uncomfortable at first, glancing nervously around. Leaning closer to his brother, Genji whispered, “You’re fine, anija. No one is looking.”

The other man glanced around again and whispered, “This is not proper.”

Genji shrugged. “It’s just like home, huh?” He let his voice sound carefree. “Remember the subways? How the tired businessmen fall asleep on each other’s shoulders?”

Hanzo stared at his younger brother for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose.”

“But she’s a lot cuter, huh, anija?” Hanzo remained silent. Genji sighed, “I will tell her she needs to be bald, wear a cheap suit, have bad breath from being up all night and smell of bad office tea when she wakes up.”

“Do not even think of it.” Hanzo glanced at you nervously. “She is fine as she is.”

Genji said nothing, only nodded absently. With a smile, he noted that Hanzo did not make you move. After a few more moments, he glanced at you both and said, “If you’re offended, then I will switch places with you.... No worries—she will barely wake up.”

“It is fine, ototo,” Hanzo muttered.

The ninja only nodded thoughtfully in reply.

Hanzo was peculiarly soothed by your warmth as you slept against him. Your breath was sweet against his skin. Your hair was feathery soft and he was intrigued at the intricate band you wore to keep it out of your face during missions. You were so very warm and he could feel it through his silk yukata.

Looking at you was his guilty pleasure—watching you relax and sigh in your sleep. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered—this was addictive unlike any drug he had ever seen, soothing like a balm and made him want to be...so much more than he was. It made him relax and ache for more all at the same time.

The next week 76 briefed you and Hanzo on a recon mission. You were to pose as a newly wed couple on honeymoon at an exclusive casino hotel that was supposed to be a front and launder money for Talon.

“Why did we get chosen?” you muttered sourly.

Hanzo grunted. “It is in Osaka. It is natural that I would be selected because I have the best chance of not being detected.”

“What about...well...?”

Hanzo snorted again. “The Shimada Clan?” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “We were in Hokkaido, which is the northernmost province. After Genji and I left, the clan fractured into four main factions. So far, none of them has been able to do much more than hold on to the provincial territory against the other clans. They have had to give up much of their international interests, but we will have to be careful.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon going over the plans. The elaborate casino was on the beach and featured three floors of regular gambling with a fourth, VIP floor. Eighteen more floors were hotel rooms with the twenty-fifth floor divided into four penthouse suites. The first five floors above the lobby were filled with exclusive shops and featured a spa as well as offering some services on the beach. All in all, it was a luxurious spot to stake out.

You smiled as you looked at one of the slick pamphlets. A beautiful Japanese woman smiled at the camera as strong hands massaged her smooth back as she lay on a thick mat on the beach. She appeared to have not a care in the world as she lay with her hair piled up on her head with elaborate pins in it and a spotless cover of some kind over her hips. Opening up the slick paper, you saw the photos of the hotel, a beautiful shot of one of the penthouse gardens with its own fountain, a shot of a hibachi restaurant with what appeared to be shrimp, mushrooms and broccoli surrounded by flame. On the back was a thumbnail map of the floors of the casino—a floor for craps and roulette, a whole floor for various kinds of poker, another floor for blackjack and then one for mahjong and baccarat.

“There’s even a pool, Hanzo,” you said happily. “Some of my best memories were of going to my grandmother’s house in the summer and jumping in her pool.” He looked at you solemnly and shrugged. You frowned, wondering at his chilly mood. “Hey—I’m sorry.”

He jerked with a slightly startled expression. “No. I.... It’s nothing.” He shrugged, looking away from you at the papers on the table. He shot you a sideways glance that you couldn’t interpret. “I suppose you will be packing your suit?”

You didn’t know whether to smile or frown and so settled for nodding. “I guess so. Don’t know where this will take us.” You looked at him with a solemn expression. “What about the casino? I’ve never been to one.”

“For Osaka, you might be able to get by with tourist clothes—casual pants and shirts—but I would suggest that if you want to really blend in, bring evening or cocktail attire.”

You smirked up at him. “Ooooo. Does this mean I get to see you in a suit?”

He glanced up at you with surprise on his face. He frowned for a moment. “Do you want me in a suit?”

You smiled shyly. “I would guess if you get to see me in a cocktail dress, then I get to see you in a suit.”

He nodded slightly. Flushing, he looked back at the paperwork. “You are right. I suppose that I will have to.”

You frowned, watching him as he shuffled the papers and pointedly covered the slick advertising brochure. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said sharply. “Just trying to consider all the possibilities.”

“OK,” you replied, holding up a hand. “We’ll do fine.” You cocked your head at the mission paperwork. “So what is the play?”

“We pose as a newlywed couple on our honeymoon,” he replied woodenly. “We need to spend some time in the casino—especially the baccarat and poker games. If we can get invited, then we will spend an evening on the VIP floor.”

“So we have to win big,” you surmised.

Hanzo nodded. “If we can win, we will go to the VIP floor.” He shrugged. “However, the mission is to prove the link between this place and Talon. To do that, we will be spending tracked bills. So, over the few days that we are there, we will drop a few bills here and there in the hotel, the shops and the casino. Getting to the VIP floor is less important than passing the tracked bills without getting caught.”

“And when those bills show up, we can track the path from them to Talon.” You nodded, raising your eyebrows slightly. “And if we get caught—.”

“We disappear.” He did not look at you. “Permanently.”

“Oh,” you sighed. “Hey, no pressure.”

After a beat, he chuckled dryly. “No. No pressure.” He looked seriously at you. “Are you sure that you are up for this? If not, then I will take someone else.”

“I guess I’m ready to be a missus.” You chuckled at his surprise. “So when did we get hitched?”

“Hitched?” He shook his head. “I am not familiar with that idiom.”

“When did we get married,” you clarified.

“In about three days,” he grunted.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “So how do you say ‘yes, dear’ in Japanese?”

In five days, you were at the hotel, watching as your luggage was carried away by the bellhop. Hanzo was somehow cool and poised, looking fresh and cleanly pressed in his dark suit and sunglasses. As a part of his outfit, he used a thick bamboo cane with an elaborate head. You were glad that your dress actually was able to withstand the long flight and didn’t look too creased.

“You look fine,” he murmured as he came up behind you. He put a warm hand on your waist. “We will go up to the room and rest. Come down to the casino tonight after dinner.”

You nodded, smiling for the effect. “That sounds lovely, darling.”

“If you would like to see the shops first..?”

The bellhop’s voice sounded behind you both. “Mr. and Mrs. Tanaka? Your suitcases are in your suite.”

Hanzo nodded over his shoulder and turned back to you. “Let’s go up to the room.”

You nodded gratefully and tucked your hand in his elbow. “I would like a nap. The flight—.”

“Brutal, I know.” He waved aside the concierge who came trotting up. “We can hope for a better flight back.”

As you were led up the stairs, you saw it—the most perfect dress. It was practically Grecian—a smooth column with layers of soft, shimmery silk and embroidered edges. The color was perfect—soft shades of your favorite color. It was absolutely gorgeous.

Hanzo must have caught your double-take, the soft sigh. Instead of going to the glass elevator, he led you to the store. Examining the dress, he nodded. “I would love to see you in that.”

You cocked your head. “Are you sure?” You couldn’t resist teasing him. “I mean...darling...”

He laughed low. “I mean it.”

And true to his word, he bought it for you, sliding bills to the shopkeeper as she fawned over you and brought the dress from the window for you. It did look amazing—just as you thought it would. He even got you the spindly sandals with the amazing heels and laces that wrapped up to your knee.

It was easily an hour later when you made it to your room with your slick boutique bags. Sighing happily, you were relieved to shuck your sandals and sink your feet into the lush carpet. Hanzo looked around and only nodded as you carefully hung up the dress.

“What is wrong, darling?” You dropped your voice to a whisper. “I....”

“Nothing,” he grunted. He waved at the bed. “Do you want to take a nap?”

“Just a shower,” you lied. You were actually warming to the idea of being a loving spouse, had thought that it was...something. Without waiting for him to reply, you slipped into the bathroom.

When you came out, you saw him sitting at the desk, staring at the bed. “Is something wrong?”

He looked up at you with a strange look on his face. “No, of course not. If you are not tired, would you like to go down the beach and walk the boardwalk?”

He was no more settled watching the beach on the boardwalk with his suit, cane and a rather cool looking white hat with a brim and his glasses. You were in a wide sun hat with a pair of glasses and a short coverup over your bathing suit and sandals, hoping that you were looking as cool and smooth as he was. As soon as anyone was close, he would gently pull you closer with a casual arm around your waist and murmur something flirtatious, but otherwise he was silent.

When you got to a deserted point of the boardwalk that overlooked a rock garden, you asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” He looked surprised at your question. “No...nothing is...wrong.”

You frowned at him, reaching for his hand automatically. “If..something is wrong, then I hope that you tell me.” You looked at the peaceful scenery. “I...am enjoying this. I was hoping that...you...were.” You sighed and shrugged sadly. “I am.... God. I’m sorry.”

He looked at you. “What?!”

You looked away. “I’m...sorry. I had assumed that....” You flushed. “I mean...we’re together, aren’t we?” He was silent. You shrugged again and turned away. “I guess I was wrong.”

He followed you back to the suite, watched you with that strange expression on his face as you went to the bedroom. When you unfastened the coverup, he flushed and muttered angrily. You looked up at him and he flushed even more. With a fierce expression, he turned away and muttered that he was going down to the casino.

Hanzo stalked out of the suite and went to the poker floor, his wallet heavy with the tracked bills. Walking between the tables, he watched the dealers as they slickly handled the cards. Scantily clad waitresses with trays offered shots and small books with basic gambling rules. He took a glass and sat down to watch one of the tables.

It was uninteresting—gambling was gambling whether it was here in Japan or in the U.S. He couldn’t get interested in the almost cardboard flat characters gathered around the tables. He wasn’t even really watching the tables.

He was waiting—waiting for his heart to stop pounding in that silly way whenever you drifted close. This was all an elaborate act—a ruse. You were obviously wasted as an agent for Overwatch—your skill for acting like a loving spouse was amazing. He kept reminding himself that it was all an act—just an act—because if he didn’t, he’d be taken in by the act as much as any bystander.

He flushed angrily. There was no excuse for him to be mooning over you. This wasn’t even an appropriate time! If this place was connected to Talon, there was no telling what kind of ilk might be going through the hotel and casino at any point. That made him grip the cane harder and snatch another drink up.

He stayed in the casino over an hour, watching the people come and go and drifting from game to game and floor to floor. He dropped several of the bills getting chips that he heartlessly frittered away. He couldn’t even really say which games he won and which he lost because he didn’t care—he wanted to stay away from that suite and you in it at all costs.

Of course, time stilled for no one. He was forced to go back up to the suite—and he hated thinking about why. He slid into the suite without fanfare and plopped heavily down on the couch.

You wandered in sleepily with just a robe on. “What’s going on?”

“You should go to dinner,” he muttered sourly.

“Don’t you mean ‘we should go to dinner’?” You looked aside at him. “Aren’t we supposed to be together on our honeymoon?”

He looked at you steadily and then nodded with self-depreciation. “You are right, as always.” He sighed heavily. “We do need to go down together.”

So you both went down in suit and cocktail dress. The restaurant was not busy and you were seated immediately. With a grin that seemed to scream “devoted spouse”, he took his time explaining the various sushi and sashimi and picking dishes he thought that you would like. It was relaxing, almost, as you took your time to sip the potent sake he poured you.

Afterwards, you both went to the poker floor to spend an hour or two. You played only a few hands at one table, losing quite a bit, before you coyly gave Hanzo your seat. “After all, dear, you are so much better at this than I am.”

He nodded at the compliment and slid into your seat with the few chips that you had left. The next hand he won the pot and a handful of chips. You watched him play, making private guesses of what his next move should be and schooling your features to not betray his hand. Happily, he left the table with a few more chips than he started.

So you both went the rounds of the games on this floor and on the mahjong and baccarat floor. You stayed back, listening to his murmured explanations and strategies. Even more than his whispers, though, you paid attention to the stares of the women as they watched him.

He was supposed to be your husband—even if it was pretend—and you did not want these brazen hussies even pretending that they had a chance. It was your pleasure to gently put your arm around his waist, to lay your head gently on his chest, to pick a fluffy bit of lint from his otherwise spotless coat. You couldn’t resist a smile like a cat with cream when he kissed your forehead.

One woman—obviously drinking too much and with yet another drink in her hand—drifted close to him as you returned from powdering your nose, peering up at his broad shoulders and pursing her lips suggestively as she asked him a question. You sidled up to him, pointedly dropping an arm around his waist and laying your head on his chest. “Who is this, dear?”

He smiled down at you. “This lovely lady was asking if I knew where she could find an ATM.”

You frowned at her, narrowing your eyes. “I think over there—by the restrooms.”

“Oh my dear,” she giggled. “Are you sure?”

“Quite,” you said icily. Your hand crept up Hanzo’s chest to rest beside your cheek. “If you will excuse us, my husband and I were just leaving. Weren’t we, darling?”

He chuckled softly, bringing up your hand from his chest to his lips. “Yes, dear.”

“How long have you two been together?” the woman asked as she wobbled unsteadily.

“Forever,” you snapped back, your eyes flashing. “We are on our honeymoon.”

“Oh my dear,” she chuckled as you led Hanzo away. “It is so nice to see young love.” Immediately she turned to another unaccompanied man, “My dear, do you know where an ATM is in this place?”

You led Hanzo back to the bank of glass elevators. He said nothing, only smiled at you as you muttered angrily beneath your breath. Finally, you pulled him inside the elevator and mashed the button for your floor.

He put his arms around your waist. “So what was that performance about?”

“Drunken hussy,” you muttered, leaning close to him.

“Are you jealous?” His eyes shown golden with mirth. “You do not need to be.”

“She had no business doing that,” you growled back, even as he brushed a soft kiss to your brow. “She needs to get to her room and sober up and maybe get a shrink and quit messing with my...” Your voice paused shyly as you realized what you were about to say and you glanced away. “Oh...yeah. Sorry.”

He laughed softly. “Oh now, do not turn shy on me. I so want to hear the end of that.”

You turned aside. “I’m sorry,” you muttered sourly as your cheeks flushed a hot pink. “I...got carried away.”

He smirked again and sighed. “But I was enjoying it.”

You looked up sourly at him as the elevator got to your floor and the soft chime sounded. Turning, you stalked nervously down the hallway. He followed at a steady pace. It was like a ridiculous cartoon you saw once—a terrified black cat with a strip of “accidental” white paint down her back running away from a skunk that simply loped behind her and still managed to catch up anyway to corner the poor cat.

In the room, you busied yourself unfastening the fiddly bracelet from around your wrist as he strolled in. He raised an eyebrow at you as you flushed and muttered angrily at the bracelet. “Would you care to explain?”

You yanked again at the clasp. “I said I was sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I got...carried away.” Finally the clasp opened and the bracelet spun off your wrist and slid out of your fingers to the desk and then to the floor. “I am...sorry.” You sniffed and slammed your hand on the desk. “I...just got carried away and forgot.”

He hummed softly. “Is that all it is?” He slid quietly closer to you, leaning on the desk. “Is it really just...part of the...the act?”

That hit you hard. No...it wasn’t. If you were going to be fully honest with yourself, it wasn’t part of the act. It was you reacting to him looking amazing and dashing in his suit. It was how you really felt, seeing that overpainted and over-intoxicated tramp creeping closer and closer to him. It was how you really, honestly felt—possessive and hot and needy and protective and a hundred other things that you did not have words for.

But that wasn’t what you needed here and now. You were here, with him, in a fabulous honeymoon suite as a part of your job. You were here to prove a link to Talon and take this place down. You were supposed to be professional, discrete and above all not personally tangled up in all these confusing emotions for your teammate.

You looked at him—he was a pro. He was absolutely unfazed by anything. He did not let anything he was feeling or imagining get in the way of the job. Even with his brother—and God knew that there was history and tension between those two—he was strict and disciplined and did not stop until the job was done.

So why couldn’t you?

He kept looking at you, waiting for a response as patiently as a monk would wait for enlightenment. His face gave no sign of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He looked as calm and as collected as if you were back on base and asking a minor question about the weather.

It was an embarrassingly long time before you were able to swallow and shrug. “I....” Great. Now you couldn’t speak to him because your mouth was dry as toast. “I apologize. I did get carried away and I apologize if I jeopardized the mission.”

He looked at you curiously. “I think, if anything, you have solidified our stance as newlyweds.” He offered you a shy grimace that stung because you thought you smelled a note of relief. “I do not think I have ever been so....”

You flushed, turning away before he finished. “I will withdraw from the mission if you think that—.”

“No,” he interrupted thickly. “We need to complete the mission.”

“Of course,” you hurriedly agreed. The mission came first, last and always. You wished briefly for an ounce of his determination and discipline—anything to get around this wad of hot crap inside. “We will finish the mission.”

You dropped to your knees to pick up the chain bracelet. It was a charm bracelet—so ugly in all its warty glory that it was beautiful. There was the silly charm you bought when you first joined Overwatch—a Irish claddaugh of two hands holding a heart. There was a charm with a heart and your birthstone. The two charms you picked up in Switzerland—a snowflake with a crystal in the middle and an improbable tiny birdcage with a tiny swing in it. One by one you had picked up the charms and they all had some kind of weird meaning.

You touched the last charm that you had picked up. It was a piece you had bought off Etsy—a real one of a kind, hand-made piece that had seemed too perfect not to buy. The tiny charm was a small, silver arrow with a red crystal heart dangling off the point. It was your Valentine’s gift to...well, yourself, last year.

You stood up shakily and put the bracelet on the desk. “So let’s finish the mission.”

“We will stop for tonight,” he shrugged. “Do you want go to sleep?” He pulled out a souvenir deck of hotel cards from his pockets. “Or would you like to learn a bit more about gambling?”

“I’m bushed,” you muttered. “Give me a minute and I will get changed.”

He cocked his head. “Would you like...help?”

You glanced at him. “What?”

He looked at you with a strange expression you could not interpret, then shrugged and looked away. “Just getting into the act as much as you are.”

Groaning, you changed into your comfortable pajamas in the bathroom. He had remained leaning against the desk, looking idly at the charm bracelet and the deck of cards.

You puffed out some air and muttered “Sorry” and went to the bedroom closet. There was a pillow and a spare blanket—just like every other hotel in the world. Yanking them out, you stalked to the sofa and tossed them down. “I’m going to bed.”

“Here?” He looked at you with a bit of shock on his face. “But...I thought—.” He pushed himself to his feet and seemed about to say something else, but then only nodded solemnly. “I will retire as well.”

You watched as he pushed off the desk and stood. Without looking at you again, he walked to the bedroom and closed the door. For a while, you sat there, waiting for something to happen, but you only heard soft sounds before the light flickered out in the bedroom. With a sigh, you turned off the lights in the front sitting room and went to lay down on the couch. It took a while, but you finally managed to get comfortable and your feet tucked in. It took even longer to actually get to sleep.

Hanzo spent an inordinate amount of time simply sitting in the bed, watching the closed door. He did not expect you to come through it, of course, but that didn’t stop him from imagining what might happen if you did walk in. It was more than a little ironic that you took the couch—but you couldn’t know that for sure—since he would fit more comfortably on it than you. His body wanted you to come through the door and to the bed—it was stiff and hard and hot.

He could not have you—of course not. There was no version of reality where you were actually attracted to him enough to come to him. Even if you were not a gifted agent and his partner, there was no way, no path, that ended with you in his arms. The accident—that dreadful accident that had poisoned his whole life—had seen to it that no one would want him. Unfortunately, the accident had failed to claim the part of him that wanted you the most and understood the reality of the situation the least and so he was left on the knife-edge between moving closer to you and accepting your inevitable rejection and staying further away in safety.

Hanzo puffed out a breath, wishing that he could go to you and carry you to the bed, and spent too long staring at the ceiling.

He was up before you, of course. And gorgeous in a cool linen pair of pants and a button down shirt with long sleeves. He was sitting at the desk in the bedroom, shuffling the souvenir deck of cards restlessly, not looking at anything in particular.

Staggering up, you went to the bathroom for water and to brush the foul taste out of your mouth. Marginally better, you changed into a sundress that felt suddenly a lot less modest and lots more revealing than it had when you packed it. You pulled a comb through your hair—enough to be tidy rather that to attain any degree of style—and pulled on your bracelet. For the little it was worth, you were ready.

Hanzo had been busy as well, tidying the sitting room of the suite and bringing the pillows and spare blanket in a rumpled heap onto the bed. He had scooped up the cards and put them back in their flashy gilt box and set them aside. He had even brewed the complimentary coffee and had a cup of it waiting for you when you came out, along with the little tumbler of non-dairy creamer powder and sugar packets.

“Mana from heaven,” you whispered softly as you picked up the cup. “I desperately needed this.” He only nodded solemnly. “Aren’t you having anything?”

He shook his head. “I would rather go down and get breakfast.”

“Eggs and bacon?” Pictures of waffles and pancakes with fluffy scrambled eggs and buttery toast with crisp bacon and herby sausage drifted in your brain. It sounded amazing, honestly. “Lead the way!”

He smirked slightly. “I am sure that we can find you whatever you wish. But remember that this is Japan. We do breakfast...a little differently.”

He led you downstairs to a sunny atrium. Your nose tickled at the unfamiliar smells floating around. You both were seated in a sunny booth and Hanzo spoke to the waiter for what felt like an eternity before nodding at him and apparently sending him on his way. You leaned over with a smile plastered on your face and whispered, “So what exactly did you tell him?”

“I told him that it was my wife’s first trip to Japan,” Hanzo explained. “And that I wanted her to see a traditional breakfast before she ordered.”

The waiter was beaming when he brought two trays to your table. You stared at the small plates—a bowl of steamed rice, a small plate of grilled fish and a collection of small dishes of dried seaweed, vegetables and then another small bowl with a green salad. He deftly picked up his chopsticks and pulled his serving of fish closer.

You watched him blankly. “Is...this a joke?” He looked up at you blankly. “Maybe like brunch instead of breakfast?”

He smirked and shook his head slightly. “No. This is a traditional breakfast here.”

You pursed your lips, watching his serene face as he crunched a square of the dried seaweed. Now you understood—he set you up. Your eyes narrowed. Oh, he was so going to pay. You pulled the plates closer to you and snapped up your own chopsticks. He was going to throw cultural curveballs and you were going to hit them all out of the park.

The fish was tasty and you were surprised at how much you enjoyed the savory and salty flavors. You enjoyed it even more as you saw him do a double take at how much you were enjoying it.

“I was thinking that we might want to do a tour of Osaka Castle today,” you remarked casually. “Or perhaps the aquarium.”

“I think that you would enjoy the castle the most,” he replied, sipping his hot tea.

“Perhaps,” you nodded. “I do enjoy historical sites although I’ve been told that Dotonbori is not be missed.” The waiter came back to the table and you sweetly added, “Motto ocha o kudasai.”

He stared at you with surprise as the waiter brought you more tea. “So...who—.”

“Oh, I get around, Otto-chan,” you replied, addressing him as ‘husband’ with a sneaky smile on your face.

You spent several hours at the historic castle, enjoying the peaceful walk through the gardens and hallways. He strolled behind you with his heavy walking stick, occasionally adding to the tour guide’s commentary. Thankfully it was another warm and sunny day and you enjoyed it immensely.

You were back at the hotel for lunch and you whimpered as your feet hurt in your sandals. You limped to the atrium and whispered to him, “I wouldn’t have chosen these sandals if I had thought about how much we’d be walking.”

“They make your legs look amazing,” he replied slyly. “I have been very glad that you did wear those sandals.”

“Hmmm,” you smirked back at him. “I was thinking that a dip in an onsen might be just the thing for my feet. Are you game?”

He frowned and glanced away. “I...cannot. If you want to go, then I will not stop you, but I cannot be there if you get into trouble.”

You looked up at him with confusion on your face. Then he gestured gracefully at his left shoulder. Oh...damn. His tattoo was beautiful and enormous, but not a single respectable onsen (at least, not ones that you felt safe going to by yourself) in Japan would be open to him. “Well.... We don’t have to.”

“There are spa services available here,” he added in the same blasé tone. “There is even an in room massage.”

“Oh, now you have my attention,” you smiled back at him. “Do tell me more.”

He shrugged. “I was looking at the pamphlets this morning. The masseuse can be available at our room to give....” He paused and pulled the worn paper out from a pocket to read it. “‘A blissful hour long body massage guaranteed to leave you feeling relaxed and well. Aromatherapy and custom blended oils available.’”

You were nodding before he was finished. “That does sound amazing.”

“Or,” he continued. “I could...try to massage you myself.”

You looked up at him, at his amazing dark eyes with their wide blown pupils. “N-n-now that you mention it...that sounds—.”

His communicator beeped in his shirt pocket, shattering the moment. He dropped his gaze and plucked it out of his pocket. Annoyed, you looked over his shoulder at the device. “Who is it?”

You were expecting Genji or 76 or someone. Instead you saw a small picture of a kitten and an instant message saying “Thank you for subscribing to Cat Facts. Standard message rates apply. To unsubscribe, reply ‘UNSUBSCRIBE’ to 338-291. The technical term for a cat’s hairball is “bezoar”.”

You giggled as he dismissed the message with a snort. “I did not know that you liked cats, darling.”

He put the device back in his pocket. “It.... I like cats. They cuddle and purr and—.” He shrugged in embarrassment.

You leaned over to give him a quick kiss on his cheek. “It’s okay. I like cats too.”

He smiled shyly, his face dropping almost out of your sight. Finally he answered. “Give me an hour or two to get ready. Then come up to the room.”

You nodded at him. “That sounds great. I’ll go to the gift shop.”

He took out his wallet and handed you a few bills. It was almost impossible to tell which ones were being tracked, but that was part of the operation. The gift shop was luxurious—offering various expensive toiletries including their spa products, locally made scarves and silk items, and organic teas. But you were drawn to the little ceramic animals—especially the cats.

The tiny lady came up to you. “Are you interested in our ceramic animals?”

“Hai—yes,” you nodded. “The cats.”

“Oh these cats are very special.” She brought out a small green cat that was curled up for a nap. “A local ceramicist molds and hand glazes these exclusively for our gift shop.”

“Do you have any that are waving?”

“Oh, the maneki neko?” She looked a little flushed. “Well, we have some in the posture, but I think that down the block are the actual moving plastic ones.” She brought out a round ceramic cat with its paw up. “As you can see, the ceramic is far too heavy for most of the robotics used today.”

“I see,” you muttered holding the surprisingly heavy figurine.

“The ceramicist has several colors, depending on what you would like help with the most.” She brought out a whole collection of differently colored cats and what looked like a collection of pendants. “The white is most popular and means ‘purity and happiness’. We often match it with this koban pendant for luck with money.”

You looked up at her. “Are there any for...for love?”

“Oh? Love of family or romantic love?” She brought out a few more cats. “The gold cat is for wealth. The blue is for wisdom and career. The gray cat is my favorite and for attracting helpful people. But the pink is for love and romance.” She brought out some blank pendants. “These are so that you can write your own prayers and wishes.”

“Well...Hanzo is very traditional,” you smiled. “I wanted to get him a cat.”

“Ahh...well, traditional men are often so embarrassed by romantic charms, so often the best all around charm is the white one with brown and black spots. This is for luck, wealth and prosperity with both paws up. And with a few different pendants, you will have ones for each occasion.”

That sounded best. You purchased a few ceramic pendants—one with a golden koban, a bib, a banner that looked like the character for “love”, and two blank pendants—on soft red satin ribbons. The lady tied the pendant with the “love” character and the koban pendant around the heavy ceramic cat’s neck. A variation in the glaze made it appear that he was sticking his tongue out. On impulse, you also bought two blue cats—one with its right paw up and one with its left paw up—that were smoothly glazed in electric blue.

The three boxes with the cats and the paper wrapped bundle with the pendants were surprisingly heavy. She carefully settled them in a slick bag and handed it to you. Coyly, she offered several suggestions of massage oils to you as well as directing you to the boutique that offered negligees and scanty silk gowns that were clearly for attracting romantic attention. So, you wandered across the lobby and purchased a sheer white gown.

Upstairs, you cautiously approached the suite. There was nothing so far that you could see that indicated anything. Sliding in your keycard, you opened the door to the darkened suite. The bedroom door was closed and only one lamp was on in the sitting room. Had he been serious? Or had you arrived too early? Closing the door behind you, you sighed heavily. Maybe you needed to go back to the lobby or call him?

Impishly, you changed into the new gown. Sliding out the white cat with its multiple pendants, you set it on the coffee table. It’s pendants gleamed by the light of the lamp. Mildly satisfied that he would see it and hopeful he might get the message, you knocked on the bedroom door.

“Hanzo,” you called softly. “Are you there?”

He opened the door to reveal the bedroom. Lit candles cast a soft glow on the bed. A branch of sakura blooms were in a vase on the desk. The sheets were pulled back invitingly. On the bedside table was a small ice bucket with a small green glass bottle in it along with two glass flutes.

Most attractive though was Hanzo as he stood bare chested in only a silk hakama. He smirked at the short gown that fluttered around your thighs. “Come in....”

He laid you on the bed and opened the champagne. Pouring you a bit, he offered the bubbly drink to you. “I thought...maybe....”

“Oh, this is wonderful,” you grinned, sipping the champagne. Gently, you reached out and touched his loose pants. “But what about you?”

He shook his head with an embarrassed expression and backed up stiffly. “I wanted this to be for you.” He gestured and you saw the bottle of massage oil in his hand. “So, if you will just lay down?”

You frowned at his sudden shyness. “Well, I was thinking about this being for us.”

Hanzo smiled sadly at you and shook his head. “It is...kind of you, but it can not be.” You frowned in confusion. “So, instead, I will do this for you.”

“But why? Why stop there?”

He shook his head again, setting the everything aside. “I am content with just—.”

You sat up and tugged on him. “I am not! I want...” You puffed out the breath in anger. “I want you and I to be ‘us’ and for us to enjoy some time together.” You yanked on a handful of his clothes. “What is the problem with that?”

He stood stone still as you yanked. But after considering your words, he nodded with a sigh of his own. Looking at you with ice cold eyes, he whispered to you, “If it is going to come to this, then I will show you why we can never be.”

His whole posture was stiff and proud as he stalked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching over almost to the floor, he looked like he was about to take off his shoes when he looked coldly at you and said, “Remember. You asked for this.”

You were about to ask something, to say something, but everything about him seemed to be full of icy pride that forbade you from asking him anything. Instead, you watched as he slid off his slippers, kicking them under the bed and then shucked off the loose silk pants. He had on a pair of black boxer briefs that skimmed over his heavily muscled body the way that you wanted your hands to. He refused to look at you, though, as he kicked the pants away.

Instead, he leaned over his legs and began fiddling. It appeared that he still had shin guards on—leg armor on his lower legs that extended over his feet. Curious, you watched as he dealt with the buckles and fastenings. You frowned, your mind questioning how such a massively muscular man had such elegantly slender legs and feet—they didn’t seem to really match—and your brain wasn’t processing the disconnect.

You still weren’t processing it until he finished with his left leg. You held your breath, expecting that he simply had slender legs or something, but instead, he removed the entire piece. Without looking at you, he worked on his right leg, removing that prosthetic as well.

His right leg ended just at the knee. His left had a small stump beneath the knee. Both stumps had wrinkled and scarred skin at the end that looked like crumpled linen. Around the stumps where the prosthetics attached, the skin was reddened and chapped. His thighs were as massively muscled as the rest of him and he pushed his torso up to swing them in front of him on the bed.

Looking at you with narrowed eyes and a frown, he shrugged. “So now you know.”

You nodded slowly. “Can I ask what happened?”

He looked aside—anywhere but at you. “It happened quickly. A rival family—the Hasu-gumi—decided to try to intimidate my father. They targeted my mother as she rode with us—my brother and me—home from a trip. They drove the car off the road and we ended upside down on the mountainside against some rocks. The driver was shot. My mother and I escaped, but Genji was stuck inside. He was tangled in the seatbelt because he insisted on being fastened in with his favorite blanket wrapped around him.

“My mother was screaming, telling Genji to hurry up and leave because the car was on fire. The more she screamed, the more frightened he became and the more tangled he got. The Hasu goons were already gone, so it was up to me. I crawled back into the car through the busted window and used my pocketknife the cut the seatbelt.

“I took his blanket and covered the broken glass with it. Genji got out and went running to our mother.” Finally, he looked coldly at you. “But I did not get out of the car in time.”

You shuddered, suddenly cold and frightened. There weren’t many words that were coming to your brain, let alone coming out. You couldn’t begin to imagine what a young Hanzo was doing or feeling—almost killed and alone with a mother and younger brother in danger.

“The explosion knocked me out. I do not remember much after that. Just being hurt and being in a stretcher in an ambulance. The hospital was brightly lit and it hurt my eyes and it hurt to breathe. My mother brought me a ridiculous stuffed animal—a stuffed cat—and some balloons. When my father arrived, he took charge, telling the doctors what to do and how to do it.

“Finally, after two surgeries, the doctors had done all that they could do. They simply could not save my legs any more than what you see now. They offered to do omnic legs, but I was allergic to one of the neural alloys to control the prosthetics, so they made do with robotic legs.”

You murmured softly and closed your eyes. You had no idea....

“My father was utterly disgusted. He began to favor Genji—giving him better cars, better weapons, better money. He wanted a whole son—one without flaws. He was appalled that one of his sons—his eldest son—was a cripple and a half of a man. My mother protested, of course, but when she died, he all but abandoned me and left me to the kyodai to train, to raise.”

You looked mournfully up at him. “Oh my god.”

He scowled at you. “It made me strong. The kyodai never let me forget that I was a cripple and a lost cause. It made me stronger every time that they told me that I was only ever going to be shateigashira—the second lieutenant—rather than the wakagashira as was my birthright. Every time that my father told them that he would not let a weakling and a cripple without legs lead the Shimada-gumi, I grew stronger. Every single time that my father refused to promote me, to give me the men and weapons I needed to carry out my missions—I grew stronger.

“When he died, though, the elders of the clan saw that Genji wanted to have fun, to go drive fast cars, to do whatever he wanted. I wanted to lead, to prove my father wrong, and to take the Shimada to success that he would never dream of. So, they agreed to let me lead—to take my rightful place as the hereditary kumicho.” He shrugged angrily. “It was almost a joy for me to be ordered to attack Genji because I wanted him to feel my pain, to know what it was to not be a whole man.”

You crawled a bit closer to him. His hands were fists on his thighs and his jaw was clenched as he watched you. He wanted his words to hurt, wanted to spread that poison to you and everything he said was an expertly aimed arrow to your heart. “I think that you are strong—stronger than anyone I have ever known.”

“I was forced to be strong,” he snorted. “I had no choice if I wanted to survive. If any of the brothers in the Shimada-gumi had smelled weakness in the water, I would have met some convenient disaster and my father would not have missed me.”

“What? Not missed you?! But how—?!”

“He told me often enough,” Hanzo growled. He gestured towards his legs. “And, he was right, perhaps. No one has wanted these.” He stared you in the eye. “No one has wanted this...weakness.”

You swallowed—forcing liquid down your dry throat. “You....” Your dry throat threatened to close entirely. You crawled closer to him. Ever so slowly, you reached out to his legs as you watched his face. “You are so...very strong.”

His face sharpened into even more of a scowl and his torso reared back proudly. “I do not need your pity.”

You crawled between his splayed thighs and knelt on the bed facing him. “I do not pity you.” You shook your head and ran a hand through your hair. With a shy smile, you added, “I’m almost afraid to pity you.”

“Afraid?” His nostrils flared and he puffed out a breath as he crossed his arms. “You are smart enough, I suppose, to be afraid of me.”

“No...not afraid of you,” you replied. “I could never be afraid of you. Only afraid to pity you.”

“Then prove it!” His eyes glistened with angry challenge. “I demand that you prove it.” You stared at him, frozen for a moment as you tried to figure out what to do, and finally he snorted. “I expected as much.”

“How?” you whispered.

He shrugged and slammed his hands on the bed. Pushing down on the bed, he started to turn away. Instead, you grabbed his thigh with one hand and put the second on his chest. Everywhere you touched, his thick, heavy muscles bunched. You looked up to his face and slid closer. “You can think what you want, but I will prove it to you.”

He only watched as you got between his legs and that did not help your nerves settle. Swallowing heavily again, you decided to start at the top and work your way down. If he wanted you to prove it, you’d prove it—in spades—and he’d never, ever doubt you again.

Between his legs, you leaned in close and drug your fingers up his chest. He made no movement, showed no reaction—didn’t even soften his scowl. Your fingers traced his chest up to his neck and to his hair. Carefully, you undid his topknot and let his long hair fall down his muscular back. Stroking it, you were faintly amazed at the silky softness as it dripped from your fingers. Bringing your fingers back to his face, you drug your fingers down his jaw and felt the coarser and rougher hair of his beard tickle your fingers.

Gently, you pulled him closer and kissed his lips. They were so tightly pressed that they felt harder than his clenched muscles. Licking them, you whimpered softly, “Let me in so that I can prove it to you.”

You heard a growl deep in his throat—echoing in his barrel chest. You licked his lips again and pressed a kiss to them. Finally, he loosened up and his lips answered yours. You whimpered against them again.

More—he needed more. You let his stubborn lips alone and kissed his chin. He was coiled tight like he was waiting for you to hit him. The thought was tempting, but instead, you licked his neck. The sweat stung your tongue and you pressed another kiss to the bottom of his throat as it vibrated with another growl.

His chest was a work of art. You licked down his pecs, grinning as they jerked slightly beneath your lips. Your fingertips grazed his dark nipples and then there it was—.

The soft gasp.

You almost did not hear it, but you felt it as he twitched unsteadily. You grazed his nipples again, dipping to lick them and heard a gasp and the thumps as his fists slammed into the mattress. Your eyes went wide, glancing at the meaty hands on each side of him as they ground into the mattress.

His stomach was drum tight as your hands stroked it. One finger circled his tight navel and you heard a new sound that sounded like pebbles grinding together. You finally dared to look at his face and saw that his jaw was clenched tight and grinding together. His eyes were locked onto you, watching you like a starving man watching a steak dinner. His shoulders were hunched over as he kept his fists ground into the bed. Every muscle was tight and there was a slight gleam to his skin like the shine of lacquer or polish.

Coming back up, you traced his abs and drug along his pecs. Your mouth came up to his left shoulder where his tattoo shown dark against his skin. Ever so slowly, you traced the lightning arcing around the dragon. On his wrist, you kissed the dragon’s nose as you watched the archer’s face. His quick intake of breath and the hunger in his eyes gave you an utterly delicious idea.

You delicately scratched his leg to make sure that you had his attention—not that you had any doubt of that, but it was the principal of the thing, really. He kept watching you, his other arm clenched tight and his fist clenched so tightly that you were amazed his palm wasn’t bleeding. His shoulders were hunched, curled with bruising strength and agonizing tension.

So, you kissed the dragon’s whiskers. He looked at you questioningly. With a swish of your hips, you licked the dragon’s mouth. You were going to make that ink dragon howl with pleasure and you started with its mouth. Opening your mouth, you stuck your tongue into its muzzle as though you were expecting to feel its teeth on your lips.

He watched as you lapped the dragon, kissing its whiskers and nipping at its horns. Your tongue followed the dragon’s neck and belly. You twisted slowly around as the coiling body wrapped around his arm, stopping at his elbow to kiss the clawed feet and then drifting up to the clawed foot on his shoulder. The tail waved on his collarbone and you kept following it with your mouth and tongue to the feathery bits on the end.

He was hissing now, his breath sliding between his clenched teeth as his cheeks puffed in and out. Coffee dark eyes with blown wide pupils followed you as you came back to his chest and began to stroke his pecs. At least he couldn’t see how badly your hands were shaking as you traced the aching hard muscles beneath his skin. You fingers backed off, becoming gentle brushes as they slid down his sides to his waist.

With a cat-like smile you began tracing the seams to the dark underwear. His breath puffed in and out and when your fingers circled closer to that aching tent only to drift away to his chest again, you heard the deep whine in his throat.

That soft sound was like electricity to your blood. Your own legs were starting to shake and you could feel the warm liquid slick start to pool between you thighs. His hungry look set fire to you as you kept drifting teasing touches close to where he probably wanted it most only to take those touches elsewhere.

Your gown was feeling tight and rough, despite the loose, silky material. Without a second thought, you pulled it off and tossed it aside where it landed (ironically) on top of his prosthetics. You both watched the fabric billow as it settled loosely around the hard metal before fluttering down.

You smirked at it, and turned back to the archer. You felt the heat of his gaze like lasers across your nerves. With a shudder, you realized that you had him where you really wanted him.

So, you slid back and leaned down. Quit deliberately, you let your hair drift over his lap and you dipped your head in a heartless tease. He groaned at the movement, bucking upward slightly by rocking on his hands. With a wicked smile he couldn’t see, you slid away, tracing your lips down the inside of his left thigh.

“K-k-Kuso!” he hissed. “Ima yare!”

You only shook your head and let your kisses continue as you gently scraped the delicate skin of his groin with your fingernails. You let your kisses trail down all the way to the reddened and scarred skin. Glancing at his hissing face, you let him wait for a moment, let him grow impatient.

“Do it!” he commanded again.

So, you did. You worshiped the scars, stroking and kissing them and watching as his cheeks twitched with every puffing breath. You patted them, suckled on them, stroked them, gently scratched them and then kissed the scratches away. He jerked wildly, his eyes closing slowly as you chose a long, raised scar that was a cherry red and began to kiss it with long slow strokes of your tongue. Just when he sucked in an uncertain breath, you nipped a bit of the skin and worried the little bit of skin between your teeth, suckling on it.

He yelped, his torso dropping back and resting on his trembling arms. “Mo iya—no more! I cannot stand it.”

You puffed on the rosy little mark. “What about a matched set?”

“No more!” he bellowed again. “I...I can...not.”

You ignored him—probably at your own risk. Instead you moved to the other leg, giving it the same treatment—loving, suckling, and stroking it as much as you had the first. His arms gave out as you marked that leg, and he laid back on his elbows helplessly.

You were ferocious as you drug yourself up again to lay down beside him. He watched you, waiting, as you settled down on the mattress. Your fingers casually stroked him as you laid down as your mouth smirked innocently.

Then, you scooted a little away from him. His eyes were alight with questions and you gave none of the answers away until you were comfortably stretched out on the bed. Instead of touching him, though, you stroked yourself.

You plucked at your nipples, showing him their tightness. You stroked your breasts, whimpering softly. His attention was riveted to watching you as you dipped your fingers into your waiting cunt and showed him the sticky wetness before smearing it all over your lips.

He rolled towards you, his hand shaking as it reached for you. You curled on the mattress, feeling like a supple cat and giving him a grin as you pushed his hand away. Wagging a finger at him, you resumed your careful stroking.

He growled at you, low and threatening, and you smirked at him again. Spreading your thighs and then spreading your intimate flesh, you showed him the glistening bud of your pleasure. Stroking it, you shuddered as you pleasured yourself and completely ignored him.

Both of your hands were sticky and slick as you pulled them back. His face was red and his mouth hung open as he watched your hands as they squeezed your breasts. Impishly, you watched as his eyes followed your every movement. With a roll of your hips, you laid on your side and stroked his chest, smearing your slick over his skin.

He growled and shook as if you had smeared acid on him. Eyes that had always seemed to cool and detached were glowing with heat. In a voice aching with need, he whispered, “I want to touch you.”

You stroked him again, going from his chest to the waistband of his underwear. There was a distinct wetness there, warm and moist and salty smelling. With a grin, you licked your lips as your finger traced the hard cock underneath the hot cotton fabric. Finally, you sucked in a breath and nodded. “I want you to.”

“Saigo ni,” he whimpered, propping further up on his arm.

You had read about a man tearing off his lover’s underwear. You had heard about passion. But you had never seen a man rip his own underwear off. With a groan and a flash of impatient movement, he did rip it, tugging at the shreds of elastic that clung stubbornly to his waist.

You moved too, pushing him back as soon as his cock was free and rolling him on his back. Another roll of your hips and you were on top of him, straddling his waist. Setting your sticky hands on his chest with another stroke of his sensitive nipples, you lifted your hips up and down.

He hissed as his aching cock slid into your wet cunt. He threw his head back, a strangled cry on his lips. Now, you could see his chest twitch as you settled your legs around his hips comfortably.

Bending over him, you hissed in his ear, “I will prove it to you.”

“I know,” he whispered in return.

His cock was not long, but it was hugely thick and apparently made perfectly for you. Every time you pushed your hips up and slid back down, there was a scrape in that perfect, sweet little spot that made your body clench and gasp. Sliding up again, you growled against his skin and waited until Hanzo’s eyes were again open on you.

With an impatient slam, you came back down, grinding into his hips.

Hanzo’s eyes clamped shut and he cursed profusely in multiple languages—English and Japanese and what might have been Chinese. His cock jerked wildly in your body and his hips twitched. Shaking hands gripped your thighs gently, and his legs folded up. If his legs had been whole, he would have had his ankles on the covers, but right now they pumped futilely.

You laughed softly and slid slowly up again. “Problems?”

His head rolled back and his teeth were gritting as he helplessly tried to get some form of traction, to bring back some of the friction. “I want.... I want more.”

“More?” You teased him, kissing his skin as his fists pounded the mattress again.

“More! Now!”

With abandon, you settled your hands on his twitching shoulders and bucked up and down. Every time that you settled your hips back down, sheathing him completely, you ground against his hips until he hissed.

His eyes cracked and he reached up to grab your hips. He easily pushed you up and slid you down, howling as finally you were granting him the pumping, pulsing, wet delight of your body. He could not help himself, his arms shaking more as he tried to go faster and faster.

You felt his body clench, his hips curling upward as he tried to chase his pleasure. And instead of granting it, you fought the heat in your blood and pushed hard against his waist, locking your arms and blocking his movement.

Growling, he tried to get you to move. Rolling his hips, he fought against your gentle hold. “I need more, you...cold...heartless—!”

You fought him, the grappling shooting sparks in your body. When he finally stilled, glaring at you and unable to do more without hurting you, you nodded and stroked his sweaty body. “Have I proven myself to you now?”

He looked up at you like you were crazed. Finally, in his hazy pleasure, he nodded and you released your block.

Like a man on fire, he pumped upward, driving into you and shuddering as you bounced up and down. Your breasts jiggled helplessly and you panted as he kept driving upward. His eyes went fiery fierce and his hands tightened into a bruising grip on your hips.

He pumped upward, driving deeper than you would have thought possible and scraping that sweet spot every time. Your breath felt like it was sucked out by a vacuum and you struggled to keep your eyes open as sparks and stars danced in front of them.

He was a demon, so hot and slick beneath you and so powerful that you felt the breath leave your body with each stroke. The devil beneath you pumped you up and down as fast as he could, offering the absolution of fire and passion. He tempted you like nothing else and it seemed like he was forcing your legs to scramble and to pump in time to his desperate rhythm.

“I am...going to cum,” he whispered harshly.

“I want to cum, too,” you whined.

“I will...hold on,” he gasped as he thrust up. “I will...not....fail.”

You surrendered to the fire, bucking up and down almost out of control of his hands. “I.... Please...hurry. Must...go...faster.”

“Hurry,” he panted with a groan. “Feel...your...kuraimakkusu.”

You slammed back down on his thrusting hips. Grinding your hips down, you felt the rough hair and soft skin slide against your aching pip, your growling and hungry clit. Immediately, it exploded and you stiffened straight up on that thrusting cock with an unintelligible cry. Your release flooded through you, chasing lightning and lasers across your body.

His hands fisted against your hips as your flesh pulled and fluttered around his most sensitive flesh. Fever hot, he bucked up one more time and let the boiling hot climax that was trapped in his throbbing cock go. He could feel the thick ropes explode inside you as if they were pulled from his cock. The thick, white cum bubbled around him and he could feel it slush down to his hips.

Collapsing on the bed, he was spent and he could do nothing more as he struggled to regain control of his own breath and body.

You were shaking as you laid on top of him. Exhausted yourself, you were content to feel the last twitches of his cock as it softened inside you. It was completion, to feel his hands suddenly gentle as they grazed your skin and to feel him struggle to pull in each sweaty and thready breath.

“Do you believe me now?” you asked softly.

He nodded with jerky movements as though it hurt to move. You kissed his body gently, your fingers tracing the tattoo idly. His eyes closed and he seemed far more relaxed than you had ever seen him.

Puffing a breath out, you told your body to move, but it refused to. His belly jerked as you drug your hands up. “Stop...,” he whispered. “That tickles.”

“Gotta move,” you grunted at him.

He shifted and rolled his hips slightly. Without resistance, you slid off to the bed right beside him. Instantly, you pushed closer and draped your arms and legs comfortably around him. “So warm,” you muttered.

“You are very hot,” he replied shortly. Taking your hand in his, he kissed your fingers. “I am so warm.”

You smirked happily against his skin. “I guess you’ve found a use for me, after all, huh?”

His arm wound tight around you. “You underestimate your worth.” He tilted his head so that he could look at you and whisper softly. “You are a valuable member of the team—.”

“Is that all you think about?” you snapped in a playful and sleepy tone. “The team? The mi—I mean, work?!”

“Not at all,” he smirked closing his eyes sleepily. “I am also thinking of how comfortable I am and how much I am enjoying laying here with you.” He cocked open a single eye in a mischievous expression. “And now I am thinking how nice it is to be so...warm.”

“That’s me—the space heater,” you quipped.

He grimaced but it was without rancor. “It is not something I take lightly and I would appreciate it if you were serious about it.” He shifted and stared at the ceiling. “It is a rare gift to be so warm.”

There was something—a hitch in his voice, a soft inflection or twitch—that made you realize that he was serious. Without a better idea, you clung to him a little closer. “It’s about your father, isn’t it? Something terrible he did.”

Hanzo nodded. “It was a small thing—silly really. But somehow Genji always had thick sheets and blankets every winter. I did not unless I spent whatever money I had managed to collect on them. Once I had saved enough for an entire set—new sheets and blankets and pillowcases—and when my father found out, I was sent away with the kyodai for the day and when I returned, the sheets and blankets were gone and I had an old set with holes in it and no blanket at all.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered helplessly.

“It was Genji that found them,” he continued. “He brought them back to me and finally I figured out how to hide them in the back of my closet by wrapping them around a hangar and then putting my heavy winter coat on top of it. So I had to make my bed every evening and then take all the sheets off and hide them in the morning before I left the room.”

He shrugged. “It made me strong. Strong enough to survive. To lead.” He looked almost resigned. “But it also made me so very cold—cold enough to go out willingly and happily to kill my brother.”

“But things are better now, right?”

“Much better,” he agreed. “I have learned much since then. I have learned that my brother was never my enemy, never my competition. I have learned that he hated what my father was doing as much as I did, but did not know how to help. He has forgiven me and I have had over a decade to find forgiveness in myself.” He pulled you even closer. “And now I have found a treasure—a woman of fire who can warm this old dragon’s bones.”

You giggled. “Old? Are you an old dragon?” He grunted with a grin. “Then I suppose that I’d better slow down so you can keep up, huh?”

He laughed slowly and rolled over to face you. “Do not worry. We old dragons are full of tricks to keep up with young maidens.” You were going to laugh again, but then you felt his fingers deep into your slick pussy. “You might need to keep up with me.”


End file.
